


Jasmine Tea

by QueensChalice



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Deathly Hallows AU, F/M, Kitchen Sex, Sirius Black Lives, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 18:35:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10542189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueensChalice/pseuds/QueensChalice
Summary: With the horcrux search weighing on her mind, Hermione is unable to sleep. She visits the kitchen at Number 12 Grimmauld Place to make some tea, but ends up with so much more. One-shot. Legal & consensual Hermione/Sirius. Smut with a side of plot. Slight AU Deathly Hallows.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published December 2016 on ff.net

_Disclaimer: I do not own the world of Harry Potter. This is a work of fanfiction, and the only benefit I receive from writing this is my own smug sense of self-satisfaction at dropping JKR’s characters into a scenario of my choosing. This particular scenario is not appropriate for children._

_Author’s note: While this is hardly an original premise (there are a number of stories out there in which Hermione and Sirius stumble upon one another in the middle of the night at Grimmauld Place), I did attempt to present their union in a light that seems to be less common, at least in the realm of smutty one-shots. My intention was to portray them both as somewhat innocent but not naïve, confident but not without doubts, and a little bit cynical but not beyond optimism. It is my hope that I’ve kept them, for the most part, in character, and have managed to add depth to an encounter that mostly revolves around sex. I also wanted to give Hermione the first time that I think every young woman deserves, but so rarely gets. Whether I’ve accomplished these things or not is ultimately up to you. I hope you enjoy it._

xXx

Finally giving up on the possibility of sleep, Hermione Granger slid out of bed to head down to the kitchen of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place to make herself a cup of tea. She had hoped for at least a few hours of rest before she, Harry, and Ron set out in search for the next horcrux, but unfortunately that didn’t seem to be in the cards for her tonight. She was much too anxious to do anything but lay awake and stare at the ceiling while she contemplated her fragile mortality.

So instead of sleeping, she found herself silently padding down the stairs in her night clothes: an old soft t-shirt featuring the logo of her father’s favorite rock ‘n’ roll band, and a pair of cotton shorts. Glamorous it was not, but it was comfortable in more ways than one, and besides, who did she need to impress? Nobody else was awake to see her at this ungodly hour anyway.

As she pushed the kitchen door open, she realized with a start that that wasn’t true. She froze like a deer in the headlights, her gaze meeting with the form of Sirius Black. He was seated at the far end of the table, illuminated by the fireplace and sipping on what was presumably his own cup of tea, with a satin robe hanging open over his tattooed chest.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t realize anyone was still up. I was just going to make some tea, but if you wanted to be alone, I can…” she trailed off as she realized he was watching her with an amused look on his face, and suddenly she became aware of how little she was in fact wearing. Spots of red blossomed on her cheeks and she stared down at her bare feet in embarrassment, watching her toes curl in under themselves.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Hermione. The kettle’s still warm; it won’t take but a minute to heat back up. I’d be delighted to have your company.” His voice was velvet as it glided over her. She was certain that he knew the effect that he had on her, and did nothing in an attempt to dampen it. After twelve years in Azkaban, and another three years locked away in his ancestral home, she supposed it was only natural for him to take advantage of any opportunity he could find to entertain himself, and so she couldn’t bring herself to fault him for it, even if it was occasionally at her own expense. It was, after all, harmless.

The first time that she had _noticed_ him, in the way that one notices a member of their preferred sex, was when she had stayed in his house during the summer before her fifth year of school. She had arrived with the Weasleys, and as she stepped into the main parlor to set down her trunk and receive her room assignment, she glanced up and saw him sitting draped over a couch, sporting a look that was slightly disheveled in that accidently-on-purpose way. Cleaned up and properly nourished, he was a sight to behold, exuding a casual elegance that alluded to his aristocratic upbringing.

Something in her had tightened at the realization that her best friend’s godfather was an attractive man, and she quickly tucked away the feeling into the recesses of her psyche, only allowing herself the indulgence of thinking about him in that regard when she was completely alone and had the luxury of exploring her developing body with her own hands.

And though wholly inappropriate for countless reasons, Hermione thought that Sirius must have _noticed_ her at some point too, because aside from the lighthearted flirting that seemed to just be his normal mode of communication with the opposite sex, she had caught him watching her, once or twice, with the strangest look in his eye. If she wasn’t mistaken, it was admiration tinged with a bit of guilt, as if he knew that it was wrong to be looking at her with such interest, but just couldn’t help himself.

Of course, nothing had happened between them beyond the noticing. Neither of them spoke of it, let alone acted on it, because nothing _could_ happen between them. She was Harry’s teenaged friend, and he was Harry’s father figure. It was just not allowed.

But tonight… Hermione wasn’t sure if those things even mattered anymore. She was an adult now, and she might die tomorrow.

Her world was out of control, and there were too many bad things going on and not enough good to balance them out. She was hopeful, and determined, and had the conviction of her beliefs on her side, but was it enough? Putting an end to Voldemort’s reign of terror was a cause worth dying for, but what was she living for? The friendship and love she shared with Harry and Ron, certainly. The hope of someday reuniting with her poor parents, so blissfully unaware of their only daughter’s existence, absolutely. The dream of attending Oxford, when all of this madness was finally nothing but a bad memory, definitely.

But those were all thoughts and ideas-- intangible concepts that she clung onto with her mind.

She needed something visceral, something that she could hold in her hands and feel against her skin.

Hermione made a decision.

She looked up, her eyes locking with his, and the air was suddenly heavy in the kitchen. She knew that _he_ knew that something had just shifted between them in that moment, because the teasing expression fell from his face as he cleared his throat and abruptly rose from his seat.

“Right,” he muttered, turning to the stove. “I’ll just put that kettle back on for you.”

“Sirius.” She took a step toward him.

Something in her voice made him pause in his actions, with one hand on the kettle and the other on the knob to the stove. “I’m drinking a really lovely jasmine tea, but there’s some chamomile here too if you’d prefer something more… traditional…” His voice faltered as he set the kettle on the burner and glanced over his shoulder to watch her take another step toward him.

She took a deep breath and summoned all of her Gryffindor bravery. “I changed my mind. It isn’t tea that I want.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and seemed to struggle to find his own Gryffindor bravery. After a long moment, he opened his eyes and said her name softly, like an apology. “Hermione…”

Closing the remaining distance between them, she stood within arm’s reach of him and grasped the bottom hem of her shirt. Trembling with anticipation of what she was about to do, she then pulled it up and over her head in one fluid motion, letting it fall to the floor.

His eyes locked on her bare breasts: two small handfuls each of soft, creamy flesh, peaked with rosy pink nipples that were hardened by the cool air. Seconds passed in silence, and then the tea kettle began to shriek. He finally tore his gaze away from her chest to turn off the stove and remove the kettle from the burner. “How about the jasmine then?” he asked, still fumbling with the kettle as he tried to regain his composure.

She shook her head slowly. “I don’t need tea tonight, Sirius. I need to feel alive. I need _you_.”

Setting the kettle on a trivet, he held his hands out in front of him, palms flat and facing outward as if to say _stop_. “We can’t… I mean, you’re beautiful, Hermione, but… I can’t… You’re still so _young_ ,” he stammered.

Gently taking his hands and setting them lightly on either side of her ribcage, she said, “I’m of age. It’s not illegal for you to touch me.”

He swallowed visibly, pressing his eyes shut again for a moment. “It may not be illegal, but that doesn’t make it moral. I’m Harry’s _godfather_ …”

“But you’re not mine. Tell me you don’t want this.”

His fingers flexed infinitesimally, the tips pushing against her skin with the barest amount of pressure. “It doesn’t matter what I want,” he insisted weakly.

“What about what I want?” she asked. “I can’t sleep, thinking about all the things that might happen to me tomorrow when we go to the Ministry to try to get that stupid locket. We might get caught. I could get captured and turned over to the Death Eaters. I could die, or worse. I don’t know what’s going to happen, and I want to know what it feels like to be with a man, before I have to face all of that. I want you to touch me before I risk my life to save others. Is that really so wrong?” Her thumbs brushed across the backs of his hands as she held them in place against her sides, willing him to understand.

“You’ve never…?” His eyes searched hers, and his expression melted into something so tender, it looked like his heart was breaking.

“Not all the way, no.” She leaned in closer to him, so that the fronts of their bodies were almost touching. “Sirius, please,” she breathed, closing her eyes.

And then she felt his lips make contact with hers, softer than a whisper. He kissed her with such an unexpected gentle precision that she gasped against his mouth in surprise, and he took the opportunity to caress his tongue across her bottom lip. She sighed into the kiss and released his hands so that she could trail hers up his arms and over his shoulders to rest on either side of his neck.

Apparently dismissing whatever inhibitions had remained, he wrapped one arm around her waist and cupped his other hand under her bottom, hoisting her up and sitting her down on the nearby tabletop. He settled himself between her knees and leaned back just far enough to look into her face properly. “You’re sure that you want to do this, Hermione?”

She nodded. Though she hadn’t planned it before stepping into the kitchen, she knew with both her head and her heart that this was it; this was the right moment, and he was the right person to give her what she needed. “I’m sure. I’m ready, and I want this. I trust you.”

He grinned suddenly, teeth glinting in the firelight. “Then I’m going to show you that your trust isn’t misplaced,” he said, tracing the line of her jaw with a finger. “I’m going to worship you the way that a brilliant--” he dropped a kiss on one cheek “--gorgeous--” he moved to the other cheek “--ferociously brave and intensely sexy--” a third kiss landed on the tip of her nose “--young woman such as yourself deserves to be worshipped.”

A blush formed across her cheekbones and she could feel the warmth spread all the way down to her chest. “You really think I’m all of those things?” she asked with a shy smile. It wasn’t that she was insecure; it was more that she was caught off-guard that he saw her in such a flattering light.

He smiled into her hair as he pulled her close. “Don’t you?”

“I _am_ pretty brilliant,” she conceded, nuzzling against his warmth and relishing in the way she could feel his barking laugh rumble through his chest.

“Your modesty is, perhaps, my favorite of all your virtues,” he joked, loosening their embrace and drawing his wand from a pocket in his robe. He paused, eyeing her speculatively before continuing, “A few precautions are in order, don’t you agree?”

“Of course,” she agreed. “Safety first, and all that.”

Sirius first cast a silencing charm on the kitchen and warded the door against entry, which was wise. The last thing they needed was to be interrupted by Harry or Ron. _Yikes_. Hermione tried not to grimace at that thought. He then turned back to her and performed the standard contraceptive spell. Finally, he put a cushioning charm on the table before stowing his wand back in his pocket and shedding his robe entirely.

She sat there on the table in only her sleep shorts, looking up at him from beneath her lashes. He was handsome like nobody else she that she knew. Refined in a manner that couldn’t quite be muted by the scruff on his face or tattoos on his skin. Though he was quite a bit older than her, it seemed right somehow. She was mature beyond her years, and combined with his signature youthful mischievousness, the age difference seemed insignificant.

She was certain she had never been more attracted to anyone than she was to Sirius Black right now, shirtless in the glow of the firelight, gazing at her with a look of pure adoration.

He moved forward into her embrace, capturing her lips in a kiss that went deep beyond their first; he plundered her mouth with his, and suddenly she realized that he might need this just as much as she did. She had a moment to wonder when he had last had the opportunity to be intimate with a woman, and then his kisses began trailing their way down her jaw, and the time for rational thought was over.

Her head tipped back and her chest involuntarily arched toward him, and his muffled response was a chuckle against her throat. “You like that?” he murmured, pressing his mouth to her pulse and suckling lightly.

Shuddering with delight, she managed a hoarse, “Mmm hmm,” before a gasp caught in her throat as his tongue found a particularly sensitive spot. She rested her hands on his shoulders, tracing the swell of muscle around to the back of his neck, where her fingers twisted into his hair.

Continuing in his exploration of her body, he laid a chaste kiss to her sternum before pulling away just enough to watch himself palm her breasts. “Sweet Morgana,” he breathed, his eyes flickering to hers for a second before returning to the pert mounds in his hands. His thumbs brushed over her nipples; once, twice, three times, and a moan rose from somewhere deep within Hermione as he leaned forward to capture one of the flushed peaks in his warm mouth. As his tongue circled her nipple, her pleasure mounted until she was sure she was being driven mad from it.

“Sirius,” she pleaded, her fingers weaving deeper in his hair. He gave her breast one last hard suck before releasing it with a soft _pop_.

“Yes, love?” he answered, looking up at her with his usual smug grin.

“I need…” she faltered, realizing that in that moment, she wanted too many things to articulate.

His grin somehow both softened and darkened at the same time. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I know what you need.”

And he did indeed.

His mouth returned to her body, this time on her other breast, and his hand slid slowly down her naked torso, along the curve of her hip, and down onto her thigh to gently knead the soft skin there. His deft fingers stroked her close enough to her center that, combined with the ministrations of his tongue on her nipple, she was reduced to a puddle of dripping hot desire in his hands.

Her hips ached to press forward to meet his hand, but their relative positions didn’t allow for it and she let out a sigh that was half-want and half-frustration. “ _Sirius_ ,” she said again, insistence creeping into her voice.

Setting both hands on the waistband of her sleep shorts, Sirius said, “Lift up your bum for me, please.” She complied, and he tugged her shorts down her hips. She pulled one leg free, letting them fall down to her ankle where she was able to kick them off entirely, and suddenly she was perched nude on the table in front of him, knees spread wide apart.

Heat rose to her face as he reclined back in a chair and studied the view with interest. It hadn’t bothered her at first, but mild embarrassment began to wash over her as he continued to assess the sight and she realized that he was eyeballing her the way that a starving man would seize up a steak. Finally opening her mouth to say something, he cut her off with a muttered, “You’re so bloody gorgeous,” before diving in and placing a kiss directly on her sex.

Pleasure rippled through her body and a low, long groan escaped her throat as his tongue and lips began a probing exploration of her most intimate parts. He nibbled and sucked and teased, and before long she was crying out and trying not to rock her hips against his face too hard. She could feel herself inching toward release, and he must have felt it too, because he suddenly plunged a long finger into her, curling it deep within, and it was enough to push her off the precipice into orgasm.

He kept pumping her as she rode out her pleasure, and as the last aftershocks faded away, he rose from his chair, pushing his pants down his legs as he stood. “Are you sure you still want this?” he asked soberly.

“Oh god, yes,” was her husky response, and she reached out to grasp his cock in her hand. It was thick and so hard, but his skin felt hot and soft like brushed velvet. She had only touched one other person like this-- and Viktor had been more a boy at the time than a man --and her fumbling attempts in the dark suddenly seemed so woefully underwhelming compared to this.

Experimentally, she caressed the seam on the underside, from tip to base, and was rewarded by the response that it elicited. Sirius groaned slightly, his face losing some of its composure. “Do you like this?” she asked, using her whole hand to stroke him up and down a few times.

“Mmm, yes. That feels incredible.” His eyelids fluttered shut and his hips rocked slightly in tandem with her ministrations. Seeing him respond to her touch so enthusiastically began to reignite her own flame within, and soon her breathing was labored again, keeping time with his own.

Hermione tried to speak, found that she couldn’t, and cleared her throat before trying again. “I’m ready, Sirius. I want you.”

His eyes shot back open and he searched her face for sincerity. He must have found it because he kissed her deeply before gathering her up and laying her back on the cushioned tabletop. Biting her lip in anticipation, she watched him crawl up her body, settling himself between her legs. She gasped as his firm length pressed against her, and responded by cradling his hips with her own, drawing her knees up on either side of him to improve their angle of contact.

Stifling his own muted gasp, Sirius smoothed her hair back from her forehead as he subtly shifted his weight, aligning his tip with her entrance. His lips descended upon hers as he carefully sheathed himself inside of her.

Her breath caught in her throat as he met resistance, and his movements stilled. “All right, love?”

Nodding, she said, “Yes. It doesn’t hurt exactly, but it’s a little uncomfortable.”

“Take all the time you need. I won’t move again until you’re ready, okay?” he whispered hoarsely, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

“Thank you.” She smiled. “Will you just kiss me for a moment, while I adjust to you?”

He happily complied, teasing her lips open with his tongue and claiming her mouth with his. It didn’t take long for her body to relax against his, lost in the pleasurable sensations he was giving her, and begin to want more again. Her hips started to slowly move against his, seeking friction, and soon they had found a tentative rhythm between their bodies.

She broke their kiss to throw her head back in mounting ecstasy, gasping out, “You feel so bloody amazing… I’ve never felt so full, or so-- Oh!” her words broke off as he pushed a little deeper into her and his pelvis ground against her clitoris.

“Is this what you wanted, you beautiful creature?” he rasped, repeating the movement that had rendered her speechless. She answered him with a low moan. “You look like a goddess, spread beneath me like this.” He thrust into her again. “I may be an old man, but I still know how to give worship.” His finger slipped between her lips, and she sucked it into her mouth as he moved above her. “I know how to lay myself at your altar and show you what this means to me.” He pounded into her harder. “Can you feel my gratitude?”

“Yes!” she moaned around his finger, writhing under him. “Sirius, oh god, yes…” Her words trailed off into a murmur of unintelligible syllables as her climax crashed over her like a tidal wave. He pumped into her a few more times before finding his own release, and he collapsed, supporting his weight by bracing his forearms on either side of her face as he captured her mouth in one last searing kiss.

Several moments later, as they tried to catch their breath, he rolled off to the side, taking her with him and nestling her under his arm and against his chest.

“Wow,” she laughed, shifting to look up into his face. “That was… unbelievable.”

“It was good for you?” He made it into a question. He almost sounded doubtful, as if he were insecure in his performance.

“It was bloody fantastic,” she grinned. “Better than ever I hoped for.”

He grinned back at her, sweeping her hair behind her ear with his nimble fingers. “Good. Once upon a time, I had confidence-- too much of it, honestly --in my skills as a lover, but I haven’t been with a woman in many years… I wasn’t sure I still had what it takes,” he admitted.

“You’ve still got it,” she assured him. “Maybe you’re not a young boy anymore, but you’re no old man either. And frankly, I’m glad for your experience. I doubt that someone my age could have given me… that,” she said with a giggle.

“You’ve truly made me feel young again. I know you came to me tonight to feel alive, and I hope that it worked, but I had no idea that I needed the same thing. You’ve given me something really beautiful tonight, Hermione. Thank you.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

She rose, propping herself up on an elbow. “And thank _you_ , Sirius Black. I guess we were just what the other needed.” She leaned forward to kiss him on the lips before sitting up on the table. “Except…”

“Except what, love?” he asked, still tracing patterns down her bare back.

“Except I wouldn’t mind trying that jasmine tea of yours, after all,” she said with a cheeky grin, scooting to the edge of the table and hopping off to put the kettle back on. She cast a glance over her shoulder, still smiling. “Want some?”

He sat up, returning her grin. “I would love some.”

xXx

The next morning at breakfast, as Harry, Ron, and Hermione prepared to infiltrate the Ministry, Hermione seemed lighter than she had in a long time, which was odd, considering the mission they were about to undertake. Ron didn’t notice, but Harry did, and he wondered if it had anything to do with the discreet glances that his godfather kept shooting toward Hermione.

“Tea?” Sirius asked, removing the kettle from the stovetop and pulling some mugs from the cupboard.

Harry nodded and Ron grunted in confirmation, but Hermione beamed up at Sirius. “Yes, please. Jasmine, if there’s any left.”

“Coming right up,” said Sirius, returning her look with a blushing smile that Harry was sure he had never seen grace the older man’s features.

_Huh_. It wasn’t something that he wanted to think about too hard, given Harry’s relationships to the people in question, but happiness was hard to come by these days. If two people that he loved could somehow find a little bit of it in each other, then he could hardly object to it, now could he?

The End.

xXx


End file.
